Harry Potter - the boy that didn't care very much
by EvilMentalHamster
Summary: Harry Potter is a lad.
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter: The Boy Who Didn't Care Very Much

Book One: The Something Stone

Chapter One: The Boy Who Didn't Care Very Much

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Get the book out and read the rest because I'm not doing this. Read up to Chapter Two.

Chapter Two: The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find teh nephew on teh step.

Dudley Dursley was a fat, spoilt child. He was so fat that there was no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.

Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice which made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!'

Harry slept. His aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking towards the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the cooker. He rolled on to his back and slept.

His aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"God you're irritating," said Harry.

"I'll murder you boy! Get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Harry slept.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

"I didn't say nuttin bitch. I'm sleeping..."

Dudley's birthday – he didn't give a shit. Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.

He yawned and went back to sleep.

He wasn't gonna get up for that fat bastard Dudley. Dudley's favourite punch-bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's and Dudley was about fifty million times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, bright-green eyes and a big cock. He was supposed to wear round glasses but he couldn't be bothered with that shit so often just wore contact lenses that he nicked from Specsavers. He had a very thin scar on his forehead which was shaped like a bolt of lightning. It looked cool as shit.

Uncle Vernon banged on the door and woke Harry up.

"Get up you little bastard! The bacon is burnt!" He roared from behind the door.

"Fucking sleeping!" Harry retorted.

Uncle Vernon ripped the door open, dragged Harry out of bed, and threw him down the hall.

"Comb your hair!" he barked.

"Do one you cunt." Harry retorted again.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry didn't give a shit though coz the guy was an actual cunt.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley look a lot like Uncle Vernon. They were both ugly fuckers that looked like pigs. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel – Harry often said that Dudley was a fat nobhead.

Harry put the eggs on the table and ate them all. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thrity-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on and thought he was a spoilt fat twat.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another _two_ presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty... thirty..."

"Thirty-nine, you stupid fucker," said Harry.

Uncle Vernon punched Harry on the shoulder.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed teh nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment teh telephone rand and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games and a video recorder. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from teh telephone, looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror but Harry shrugged.

"I'm going back to bed," he said.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

"What about what's-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?"

"On holiday in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"Just leave me here," Harry yawned. "I'm going back to bed anyway."

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"That was one time," said Harry, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "... and leave him in the car..."

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone..."

"Look..." Harry said. "I think we all know where this shit convo is going so just take me to the fucking zoo so I can look at some fucking penguins."

Half an hour later, Harry, who's arse was itching something rotten, was sitting in the back of the Dursley's car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo to look at some penguins. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy – any funny business, anything at all – and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"You're breath reeks bruv," said Harry.

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank and Harry were just a few of his favourite subjects. This morning, it was motorbikes.

"... roaring along maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorbike overtook them.

"You're a boring old bastard," said Harry.

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beetroot with a moustache, "FUCK YOU!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

"Keep driving," said Harry.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice-creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a Twister ice lolly – which is always good. I should've got two, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head and looking remarkably like Dudley, except that it didn't.

Harry was really bored. The ate in teh zoo restaurant and when Dudley has a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory wasn't big enough, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry threw the first one at a lion.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in here, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of woods and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a dustbin – but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against teh glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on teh glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked blankly at the snake.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's.

It _winked._

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. He looked back at the snake and raised an eyebrow.

The snake jerked its head towards Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly: "_Fat cunts_."

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass. "Ugly fat bastards."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Do snakes have willies?" Harry asked.

As teh snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling towards them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs.

Harry sneered at him. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened – one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

The glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. Teh great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out on to the floor – people throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As teh snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Cheers cuz... I'm gonna eat some babies."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a triple vodka while he apologised over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. Harry was dead bored now and wanted to sleep.

By the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. Then Piers said "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak.

He managed to say, "Go – cupboard – stay – no meals," before he collapsed into a chair and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

"I don't care," Harry had replied, "I've got a pack of Oreos and a six pack of Carling in the cupboard."

Harry lay in his dark cupboard after his Oreo/Carling meal and slept quite contently.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 3 – The Letters from No One

The escape of the big arse snake earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new cine-camera, crashed his remote-control aeroplane, put on five stones in weight and, first time on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs Figg as she crossed Privet Drive in her crutches.

Harry was glad school was over as it meant he had more time to sleep. There was no escaping Dudley's gang, however, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favourite sport: Harry-hunting.

Harry spent most of his time asleep and, because of joint stupidity, Dudley's gang never thought to check the wardrobe under the stairs when hunting for him. When September came, he would be going off to secondary school and he would not be with Dudley. Dudley had a place at Uncle Vernon's old school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there, too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local comprehensive. Dudley thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet first day at Stonewall," he told Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practise?"

"No thanks you fat cunt," said Harry.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry at Mrs Figg's. Harry immediately lay down on the sofa and helped himself to some chocolate cake and a bottle of vodka as he watched television.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living-room for the family in his brand-new uniform. As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment in his fat life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry said that he looked like a fat pig cunt in a suit.

There was a minging smell in the kitchen next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.

"What's this crap?" he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she said.

Harry looked in the bowl again.

"Why's it so wet you silly cow?" he said.

"I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished," she snapped.

"Well it won't really, will it?" Harry said blankly.

He sat down at the table and ate a crumpet absentmindedly.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and then questioned why Harry's hair was so long.

They heard the click of the letter-box and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the post, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it."

"Get the post, Harry."

"I'm eating a fucking crumpet."

"Smash his head in, Dudley."

Harry sucked at his teeth and smacked Dudley in the balls as the fat kid tried to attack. He finished his crumpet and then went to the door. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill and – _a letter for Harry_.

Harry picked it up and looked at it blankly:

_Mr H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning the envelope over, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'.

Must stand for 'Harry' he thought.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter-bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

"I'm opening my letter you fat bastard so hold your horses," Harry replied.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, galloping into the hall, snatching the letter off Harry, shaking it open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the greyish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment, it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness – Vernon!"

"I want to read that letter," Dudley said loudly.

"Yeah me too kinda," Harry said.

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

"I'm gonna have more crumpets." Harry smiled and wandered over to the kitchen cupboard.

Instantly, the two thick idiots thought that Harry had gone.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address – how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching – spying – might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want -"

Uncle Vernon paced up and down the kitchen as Harry took a seat at the table and munched on a buttered crumpet.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer... yes, that's best... we won't do anything..."

"But -"

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

"What dangerous nonsense is that then?" Harry muttered through his crumpet.

They both turned and stared at him in horror. "Get to your cupboard!" Aunt Petunia hissed.

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he had never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.

"Safe," said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "What you doing in here then?"

"I burnt your letter," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "It wasn't actually for you."

"Ah right," said Harry.

"Er – yes, Harry – about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking ... you're really getting a bit big for it ... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Ok then," Harry shrugged.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

Harry frowned because he hadn't asked a question but shrugged and brought his stuff up into the small bedroom in the house.

The next morning, when the post arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him plodding down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! _Mr H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive -_"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall. He grabbed the letter and swallowed it whole.

"God, you're a right greedy cunt aren't you?" Harry said.

"Go to your cupboard – I mean, your bedroom," Vernon wheezed at Harry. "Dudley – go – just go."

As Harry slept, Uncle Vernon was waiting for the post like a man possessed and burnt them as soon as they arrived.

When Harry got up, Uncle Vernon was nailing up the letter-box.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't _deliver_ them they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruit cake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday and Saturday loads more letters arrived through windows and the pushed under doors. Letters were rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milk-man had handed Aunt Petunia through the living-room window.

They all still ate the eggs.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them happily as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today -"

"What a tedious and boring life you live," Harry said. "You seem to be the only cunt actually bothered about the letters."

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry continued eating his eggs.

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his moustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes, ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

"I want to finish my breakfast," Harry said.

"No arguments!" Uncle Vernon roared.

Harry sucked at his teeth and wandered off.

Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding towards the motorway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, video and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Harry smiled under the thought that it was very much like Coronation Street with Richard Killman and then he went to sleep.

He woke up to see that Uncle Vernon had stopped outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Both slept.

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to the table.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

_Mr H. Potter_

_Room 17_

_Railview Hotel_

_Cokeworth_

Harry looked at the letter blankly and let out a small chuckle. He had to admit that it was quite amusing how worked up Uncle Vernon was getting about some letters.

Some more boring stuff happened as Harry spent most of the time sleeping.

"Found the perfect place!" Vernon said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

They all arrived to a dock and sat down in a freezing boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. Harry found a nice spot on the boat, with his head hidden from the rain and wind, and he slept soundly. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

Harry wandered inside, sipped on a can of carling, and then slept on the rickety sofa.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry slept soundly.

One minute close to Harry being eleven years old and there was a fantastic BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry lazily opened his eyes. He looked over at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

"Fuck off mate," Harry said. "It's a bit fucking late for all this knocking aint it?"


End file.
